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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26089705">The King and the Steward</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/estuarie/pseuds/estuarie'>estuarie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dom/sub, M/M, Master/Slave, Mentioned Faramir/Éowyn, Ownership</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 04:08:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,126</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26089705</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/estuarie/pseuds/estuarie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The return of the King has the city in celebration and the Steward in the throes of terrible, excited happiness.</p><p>/// AU in which the King and the Steward are a lot closer to each other than in canon, wink wink</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aragorn | Estel/Faramir (Son of Denethor II)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>60</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The King and the Steward</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So I went ahead and projected all over this thing. Might make it into a series, but probably not. I'm bad at projects.</p><p>I try not to write Faramir as a complete uwu soft boi but it's really hard sometimes because he truly is an adorable softie. And Aragorn is perfect for addressing all those... issues.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The wind is in the South and the sun shines warm on the barely-cleaned ruins of Minas Tirith, and Faramir still cannot believe he is standing here, next to Húrin the Warden of the Keys. In the beautiful morning it is almost impossible to remember the darkness he has escaped just a bit over a week ago. Just yesterday Ioreth finally caved and told him the full story of what had happened after his uncle had carried his fevered body to his father, and yet nothing can dampen his elation.</p><p>Perhaps he is delusional in his joy, simply pushing away the feelings he must eventually meet head-on, but today he will not question why he has been granted so much happiness even when they're all just escaping the darkest times of the Third Age. Today, he stands waiting with Húrin by his side and feels the full, unadulterated love he has for the returning King.</p><p>In a way, it is a blessing that he of all his family should be the one to be standing here: he will spur on no strife, nor brook any denial of the King's full power to claim his heritage in whatever capacity he wishes. Perhaps it is some trick of fate, or a design of Eru Ilúvatar -- perhaps he is but a thread in the tapestry of history, joining in on the ancient, beautiful patterns that he can never see with his own eyes but that he can feel in moments like these.</p><p>The standard of the King comes through the ruined gate and the bearer stops by it to wait for his liege lord to pass him. And there comes Elessar on his horse, beautiful and regal in a white mantle and royal blue raiment, followed by two familiar hobbits on ponies and Mithrandir on Shadowfax. When imagining this moment, Faramir's breath would always catch, but now that it is here it is easy to breathe, easy to walk with long, measured strides to meet his King at the entrance square.</p><p>Elessar dismounts and his horse is taken away. His escort follows his example.</p><p>Faramir kneels and bows down his head. There is a powerful pull that he feels towards the King. His knees feel weak -- it is as though his body recognizes its place. His mouth moves without effort.</p><p>"The Steward of Gondor asks to be relieved of command."</p><p>Elessar steps closer. The touch of his hand is gentle as it tilts Faramir's face up, and his expression is gentler.</p><p>"I bid thee to stand," he says, in the manner of the old words of ceremony. "Stand and be comforted, for your King has returned."</p><p>Faramir stands. He feels like he is trembling, but his hands are steady as he holds them out. King Elessar smiles and looks pleased -- Faramir feels a glad chill travel down his body as the King takes his wrists and closes the two wide bracelets around them. They share a look and Faramir feels like he could drown in the love and understanding that he finds reflected in his King's eyes. Then he turns towards the crowd.</p><p>"What say you?" he asks in a clear voice. "Is this our King? Will he lead the proud people of Gondor?"</p><p>The cheer that rises could lift him off his feet were he only a few pounds lighter.</p><p> </p><p>The ceremonies are long, but the celebration after them is longer. Despite the elation and the pure happiness that still courses through his body, he is getting quite tired. He can keep himself fully in check and he doesn't think anyone will notice, but he is slowly starting to wish he could retire and to his quarters and enjoy a night of deep, uninterrupted sleep. But even were he to retire, the celebration would go on and Mithrandir is planning a fireworks show: he would not be able to sleep. So, he holds his place right next to Elessar, diagonally in front of Éowyn. She has been animately speaking with Gimli, and Faramir is indescribably glad of her happiness. He still cannot believe she has accepted him as <em>hers</em>.</p><p>"Peregrin, my friend," King Elessar says kindly and gestures at the chair in front of him, the chair that had just been given up by Prince Imrahil. "I do not require you to wait on me the whole evening. Sit down. Let us speak."</p><p>"Yes," Legolas says. "Please! I wish to speak with you and it is so difficult when you are constantly fetching fresh wine for the King."</p><p>"Don't have to ask me twice," the hobbit says and downright hurries to sit down. Faramir bites back his initial disapproval: it's a disapproval that is not shared by the King, and therefore immaterial. He smiles instead, greeting Peregrin with a nod. Meriadoc is already sitting with them at the table as well, in a seat Éomer saved for him. Frodo and Sam are sitting next to Mithrandir and speaking with him.</p><p>Faramir feels a little lost.</p><p>He watches Peregrin pile food on his plate and start digging in, and he wonders what his father thought of the young hobbit. Surely, Peregrin would have appeared incredibly naive to him, and whimsical -- did it amuse him or irritate him? Did he tolerate the hobbit because there was valuable information to be gained from his unrestrained speech or did he genuinely enjoy the little moments of happiness brought by him? Faramir hopes for the latter, yet thinks it is the former.</p><p>He realizes that he has let his mood affect his mien when the King touches his shoulder in show of companionship, of concern. Faramir can't look him in the eye for more than half a second.</p><p>"Are you well?" Elessar asks. There is no blame in his voice or his eyes. "It has been a very long day, and you're only just out of the Healing Houses."</p><p>"Thank you, my liege," Faramir says softly. "You do not need to worry about me."</p><p>"I did not ask if I need to," the King says and smiles. "I will ask again. Are you well?"</p><p>Faramir smiles back, not even half as widely as the King.</p><p>"Yes, my lord," he says. "Only a little weary. I might retire for the night, but I do wish to see fireworks."</p><p>King Elessar laughs and rubs Faramir's shoulder. His hand is warm and strong.</p><p>"I shall make certain that you are not disturbed tomorrow," he says. "You have been very polite and dutiful."</p><p>"Labour done out of love is not heavy, my lord," Faramir answers. "What I do for you, I do gladly."</p><p>King Elessar smiles gently. There is such wisdom and empathy in his gaze that Faramir's breath is stolen for a moment.</p><p>"Forgive me, but you strike me as someone who gives himself too fully to labour of love," he says and slides a hand behind Faramir's neck. "Take care that you do not exhaust yourself with it."</p><p>Faramir cannot respond. He is overtaken by a sudden desire to kneel down and crawl under the table, to show his King how much he loves him. He would sit at his King's feet all day, be fed morsels of food by hand during meals, if he were asked to. He would do anything for this man.</p><p>"Lord Faramir!"</p><p>It's Peregrin's voice. Faramir starts out of his daze and turns to look at the hobbit -- green eyes are staring at him with fascination and admiration.</p><p>"Are you alright?" the hobbit continues, apparently not conscious of what he'd interrupted. "You had only just woken when I left and I was very worried."</p><p>Faramir smiles and takes a sip of wine before he gives himself to the conversation.</p><p> </p><p>The King has a hand resting on the small of his back for almost the whole duration of the fireworks show. He bites his lip to keep himself from mentioning it, and instead leans against the touch and gasps and claps as stars and sparks explode above them. He does his very best to seem alert and hale, but by the end he cannot suppress a yawn, and of course the King notices.</p><p>"My young Steward," he says and smiles as Faramir faces him. "Go to our quarters and take your rest."</p><p>Our quarters. Faramir's mouth dries and he bows to give himself a moment to get his expression under control. Our quarters, our quarters--</p><p>Elessar takes his chin into his hand and draws him closer, into a gentle kiss. He submits immediately and utterly, relaxing under the hands of his King, and Elessar laughs softly as he pulls away.</p><p>"You're trembling."</p><p>Is he? Perhaps. Faramir swallows and takes a deep breath. Yes, he is trembling, every breath rattling his bones.</p><p>"I am happy," he says. "I cannot contain it."</p><p>"Go to our quarters," Elessar repeats and lays heavy hands on his shoulders. "Sleep. I will see you there."</p><p> </p><p>He thinks he won't sleep. Even as the servants show him to the bath, strip him of the bracelets, and leave him to refresh himself in peace, he doesn't think he can fall asleep after that <em>promise</em>.</p><p>He raises a foot out of the water and watches the faintly pink water roll in drops off his skin. What is in it, he does not know -- likely something brought from Imladris by the sons of Elrond, perhaps the nectar of some sweet-smelling flower of that beautiful land. A memory of his King's years of boyhood. He had not been asked about it, so it must be a request of the King.</p><p>The hot water is relaxing. However, his spirit is still shivering, unable to sit still within him. He washes himself fast to avoid pruning his skin and stands, dripping water onto the stone as he reaches for his robe. But it is not the robe he is accustomed to: it is soft grey linen, cool and loose, and it glimmers faintly in the candlelight. When he pulls it on he discovers that in silver thread, embroidered flowers run along its length.</p><p>He fastens it around his waist and delights in its touch. It's light and smooth, but surprisingly warm even on his wet skin. He steps out and the two servants come to him immediately, fastening the bracelets again around his wrists. Aernil and Hallas, two men he has known all his life, smiling and chatting with him as they congratulate him and prepare the quarters, and he cannot remember a word they said after they depart.</p><p>His room is beyond the entrance, adorned with white and deep green. Colours of the Stewards and of Ithilien. There is a bed there, but Elessar had said to him, <em>our</em> bed. That is beyond the first room, large and surrounded by translucent curtains, and it looks so perfectly made that at first he cannot make himself even sit on it, yet alone lay down.</p><p>But his King told him to rest.</p><p>He doesn't think he will fall asleep when he lays himself carefully on the bed, but the mattress is so soft and he is so weary that he dozes off in a matter of minutes.</p><p> </p><p>He only wakes halfway when someone opens the outer door to the quarters and the chatter of Hallas and Aernil returns. He thinks to roll over, to look over to the entrance through the open doorway, but he is too comfortable.</p><p>He drifts out again in a moment, and then in when he feels a presence on the bed.</p><p>And then he remembers who it is.</p><p>"My King!" he cries out and scrambles up, entirely undignified, his hair askew and the robe wrinkled. He meets King Elessar's kind eyes with mounting shame.</p><p>"Peace, Faramir," the King says. "I am glad you slept. I feared you might be too wound up."</p><p>Faramir sits up and wills his racing heart to settle. He smooths down his clothes as well as he can, then his hair. The King laughs and his hands join Faramir's, combing his hair between his fingers. Faramir leans into the touch and relaxes.</p><p>He is being an idiot. The King is not his father -- he is not going to get angry with him for every small sign of vulnerability. Here, he can relax freely and not fear it being used against him.</p><p>Elessar strokes his hair, then down his arms, ending at the bracelets. They're fashioned so that the wearer cannot remove them -- having the King touching around the locking mechanism, examining it with mild interest, makes his stomach flip. He bites his lip to get something else to focus on.</p><p>"Aren't you exhausted, my King?" he asks softly. "It has been a long day for you, too."</p><p>"Please call me Aragorn when we are alone," the King says and shuffles closer. "I am yet unused to my title, and I would prefer familiarity."</p><p>"Aragorn," Faramir says, to try it out and to give his agreement. From what he knows, it is not an unusual request to make. There is scarcely any official relationship closer than that of the King and of the Steward.</p><p>He lets Aragorn initiate the kiss, only responding when lips are on his. But when he does, oh, suddenly he isn't sure if he can stop. He is no boy, yet he has never felt a kiss like this, so gently consuming. He moulds himself into Aragorn's form, pressing against him everyplace he can, yielding to the demanding hands now on his back, now around his waist, now behind his neck. He does whatever seems to be asked of him, and eventually he finds himself in the lap of his King, thighs spread around narrow hips and stomach pressed against stomach.</p><p>"By the valar," Aragorn whispers into the small space between them when they part for a moment. "You are the beauty of Númenor distilled in one man."</p><p>Faramir moans and hides his face in the King's shoulder. Aragorn strokes his hair.</p><p>"Are you mine, my Steward?" he asks softly. Faramir trembles.</p><p>"Yes," he says. "Yes, my King, I am yours." Aragorn touches the bracelets around his wrists.</p><p>"Then, I will not have you hide your face when I call you beautiful," he says. "Look at me."</p><p>Faramir forces himself to lean back and do as he is bid. Aragorn watches him, then touches his cheek, jaw, nose, lips. His thumb slips in and Faramir's eyes slip shut on instinct, relaxing into the touch of his liege-lord. The thumb slips out and is replaced with the touch of Aragorn's lips again. Faramir opens into the kiss and presses back against the man's chest, emboldened by the clear desire written all over Aragorn's actions and expressions.</p><p>Aragorn brings them both down to the mattress, slow and controlled, gentle and kind. Faramir nudges him to roll them over -- he wants this so much, he wants to be contained between the bed and the strong, firm body of his King. He clings to the older man with arms and legs, bowing into every touch bestowed upon him.</p><p>"Did you wash properly?" Aragorn asks as they pull apart. He is breathing hard, eyes feverishly bright, and Faramir nods frantically -- he wants this incredible man to own him utterly, and to stake his claim fully. To invade every part of him.</p><p>"You are so good," Aragorn says. "You are so much better than I could ever have imagined."</p><p>It is embarrassing how that simple praise makes him glow with pride and happiness. Embarrassing and ridiculous. But he knows Aragorn sees it, and he knows that Aragorn will never judge him for it.</p><p>There is a bottle on the nightstand. A small thing, a beautiful crystal creation filled with golden oil. Aragorn reaches for it and arranges him to splay his legs and rest against the pillows behind his back, and when the King takes his rightful place Faramir loosely crosses his legs behind the royal back, pulling him closer when he seems uncertain. For he knows that he is not the only one here who is in a new situation -- perhaps, to Aragorn, the role he plays is even less familiar.</p><p>"Take me," he whispers. "Claim me for yourself."</p><p>Aragorn hisses and fists his prick as he makes sure Faramir is ready to take him in. His fingers are long yet thick, and Faramir is shivering again by the time Aragorn pulls out and prepares to join them together.</p><p>"Are you mine?" Aragorn asks when he has pushed in just the tip of his cock. Faramir fights against his instinct to push against the intrusion.</p><p>"Yes!" he says strongly, hands squeezed into fists, and throws his head back. "Yes, please, yes, I'm yours!"</p><p>"And I?" Aragorn asks, slowly pushing in. "Am I yours?"</p><p>"Yes," Faramir gasps. Aragorn pulls out and then pushes back in further, pulls back and pushes in. Faramir can feel him making space inside, leaving him empty and loose everytime he pulls away, and he wishes he could have this at all hours of the day, always waiting to be filled and always knowing it will happen.</p><p>There is no pause in the rhythm: it's a continuous push and pull, slowly driving him over the edge and into what can only be madness. He whines like a dog and clings to his King, and Aragorn holds him as though they have been lovers all their life and more, as though they hold each other more precious than anything in the realm, and Faramir is glad to indulge in the fantasy that for a moment, nothing exists but the bed, the pillows, the sheets, and them, moving together in effortless harmony.</p><p>When he comes, it is better than ever before. He steels himself to accept the discomfort of the King moving in his rapidly downwinding body, but Aragorn doesn't do that: instead he pulls out and in only a few strokes of the hand, still wearing the ring of Barahir, he comes as well, spent onto Faramir's stomach.</p><p>The rest goes as in a dream for Faramir. He protests when the King stands to fetch washrags but a single touch to the bracelets is enough to calm him -- the King knows what he is doing, and if he seems to service his Steward, it is only for the good of them both.</p><p>When he is reasonably clean, Aragorn gathers him in his arms and he sighs in sheer pleasure, almost sobbing as his forehead is kissed and his hair is brushed back. He is exhausted and so glad he might explode, and he falls asleep quickly, cradled in the arms of the King, and something in him that always has yearned for some abstract fulfillment of his destiny settles down and goes to sleep with him.</p>
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